Dark Angel
by Kagome1514
Summary: Christine promises herself that she will no longer think of her angel that's abandoned her. But when she does she begins to wonder if he is truly an angel or merely a man. Possible EC. [DISCONTINUED]
1. The Agony of Waiting

**A/N: Hi! Here I am with another one-shot. However, this one-shot is not smut like my other ones. This one holds more of my darker side, written from Christine's P.O.V. Maybe if you guys like it enough, I might continue to write a story off it. So….ENJOY: )**

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_Dark Angel _

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1. The Agony of Waiting

There was only one sound in the whole room: _tick tock, tick tock._

It was that sound that I feared was going to drive me insane. My fingers twitched against the fabric of my night dress, being that my hands were resting in my lap. The agony of waiting was weighing on me heavily. It was then I realized one thing, and asked myself: _What am I waiting for?_

I blinked, my brows furrowing as I tried to answer my own question. My hands twisted the fabric of my silky skirt and I bit my lower lip, trying to come up with an answer.

I heard the slow, agonizing _tick_ as I began to lift my head, the _tock_ following, after what seemed a lifetime. It was then my eyes rested on the one thing I had been trying so desperately to ignore: the mirror.

As my eyes met the cold, dark eyes of my counterpart, I hissed, gritting my teeth in anger. I had sworn to myself that I would not even look at the mirror, and here I was staring into it!

However, now that I had made eye contact, I could not tear my eyes away from the cool, entrancing sheet of glass.

I began to take in my appearance.

My dark curls were piled on top of my head, as was the style meant for my part in the newest opera. I had yet to take them down.

I took in how pale my face was, made paler by the darkness of my eyes. I began to wonder how my blue eyes could have turned such a dark shade of blue, but then softly shook my head, throwing that aside.

Beneath my eyes were dark circles, one of the few testaments to my lack of sleep. I wore a white silky nightgown with a lacy white dressing gown over it, the dressing gown closed at my waist, tied by ribbons. I stood, walking slowly over to the mirror as if in a trance at my own appearance.

Along with having become pale, I had lost a lot of weight, and was now bordering on the unhealthy side of being too thin. If I lost any more weight, I'd be far too skinny; just like some of the ballet rats.

I turned to the side, placing a cold hand on my flat stomach, taking in my shape in the mirror. I sighed softly, letting my hand fall from my front to my side. I turned, facing the mirror, and began letting my hand gently glide across the surface of the mirror, tilting my head as I looked into the mirror. If anyone could see me they'd immediately assume I'd lost my mind and that I looked as if I were in a trance.

A cold little voice in the back of my head whispered:

_You're waiting for him._

I furrowed my brows, continuing exactly what I was doing as I silently asked in my mind:

**Who?**

The voice whispered:

_You know who. Who else would be behind this mirror? _

I furrowed my brows, still not accepting what the voice was telling me.

It again whispered in my head:

_Your Angel of Music._

I pulled back as if the mirror had burned me.

I began to take hurried steps backward, and tripped on the hem of my night clothes, falling backward and landing harshly on my bottom; my back hitting the edge of the bed harshly. A mere gasp escaped my throat at the fall.

I simply stared at the mirror, not letting my eyes leave it as I sat perfectly still on the floor.

"No. What I love best," Lotte said, "Is when I'm asleep in my bed…" 

Without even realizing it, my voice surged out from my body, somehow singing softly, "…_And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head. The Angel of Music sings songs in my head…"_

I suddenly stood, filled with rage as I ran up to the mirror and began to pound on the mirror viciously, practically screaming, "The Angel of Music is dead! He no longer exists! He's dead!"

I fell to my knees, shocked to find that I had begun to cry, my shoulders shaking as I sobbed softly. I weakly hit my fist against the mirror and sobbed out softly, almost a whisper, "He's dead. He's….dead!"

It was easier to believe that, because maybe then I would stop hurting. Maybe then I'd stop longing to hear his voice.

I hated the silence. The silence was what threatened to choke me. I needed him. I needed his voice; wanted to hear it; needed to hear it.

I cried softly and whispered desperately, "Angel…..?"

Silence was all I was greeted with.

The truth was I hadn't heard from him since the night Joseph Buquet fell on the stage, hanging by that noose. All had been silence since then.

I cried harder, sobbing as I questioned aloud to myself, "What did I even do? Did I do something wrong?"

The thought hit me that that night was also the night I had been Raoul.

Had the angel seen, and become angry with me, abandoning me?

Images swarmed my brain, drowning me.

Images of my mysterious masked angel who seemed more like a man.

Images of him singing to me, beckoning to me.

Images of him caressing me.

Images of him screaming with rage at me.

Images of his eyes penetrating my soul.

Was he even an angel or just a man? He certainly didn't act like an angel at times.

But his voice…..his voice was that of an angel's.

I leaned my head against the icy-cold, hard glass of the mirror, crying; my body racked with sobs.

What was I supposed to believe?

What was the truth?

Surely he was just a man?

But even so…..he filled me with a power I had never experienced before; a dark power that frightened me, filling me full of passion and dark emotions.

I had soon cried so much that my body was exhausted and I slumped to the floor; crumpled in front the mirror that was my only passage to my dark angel, dreaming of him….my dark angel.

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**A/N: Hmmm…..I'm debating whether to make this an actual story. I don't really know. I suppose it could stand as a one-shot.**

**I suppose it's up to you all. If I get enough reviews telling me to continue this and make it a real story, then I will. **

**Please review. **


	2. Veiled Dreams

**A/N: Hello everyone! **

**: D **

**Sorry for the long wait. For awhile, I had been uncertain about making this into a real story. On a whim, I figured, "Why not? Why not take a stab at writing an angst fic that _might_ have a happy ending?"**

**So, here I am. **

**I warn you all that I write this when the mood hits me; so, updates may be sporadic. **

**As you can tell, I decided to continue this fic. (God only knows why). I have no real plot in mind...so let's just see where it goes! **

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2. Veiled Dreams

(Erik's P.O.V.)

I paused in my playing of discordant notes in my latest composition. I could have sworn I heard a high-pitched wail...it had almost sounded like my name.

Frowning, I slowly stood and donned my black cloak, quickly striding to the lake. I gazed across it, my eyes searching for something amidst the wispy mist.

I felt this odd sense that maybe if I were to travel across the lake, into that mist, I might find an answer to that question that was nagging my soul.

_What was that cry?_

That scream was tugging at me; I couldn't ignore it. I had to find out what had produced that heart-wrenching sound.

The mist was surrounding my entire being, now, as I rowed intermittently, my eyes desperately seeking an answer.

The gondola rocked as it hit the bank. I nimbly leapt out of it and began my trek; my feet and heart knew the way while my head denied it.

Cloaked in the shadows of the dark passageway, the sound of dripping water reached my delicate ears as I expertly made my way through the familiar, dark tunnels; my eyes trained should anything appear out of nowhere.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the portal to Christine's dressing room.

I hissed a sharp inhalation as I took in the sight of Christine crumpled on the floor, in front of the mirror, her twisted and unkempt curls obscuring my view of her face.

The whispered words of, "_Oh, mon ange..._" had made their way out of my mouth before I even realized that I had spoken such a phrase.

My face twisted in rage as I realized my error. She was not mine to have; she never would be.

Feeling as if my heart was being ripped apart in my chest, I hastily turned around and began to walk back the way I had come.

Once back in the confines of my underground home, I began to pace absentmindedly.

How long it been since I had allowed myself to see her?

Three months?

_Three months is far too long..._

I snarled at the mournful voice in my head.

"Three months in which for her to be with her precious vicomte! Three months for her to forget my teachings! Three months in which she was placed in minor roles in the opera!"

_All because you weren't there to guide her voice._

My face twisted with rage as I slammed my fist down, my anger dissipating unwillingly as I fell to my knees.

**_Had that cry been her crying out for me? Was she regretting her actions? Did she want me back?_**

Why would she?

Who would ever want a monster such as myself?

I bowed my head, taking it in my two hands, and cradling it.

Oh, how I'd give anything just to hold my angel once more! Just one embrace!

It was impossible; she had her vicomte to keep her happy. She did not need me.

Christine no longer needed her angel.

I began to tremble at this knowledge; Christine no longer needed me.

Unbidden, my eyes were drawn to the dark red, velvety curtains that concealed my one dream; or, at least, the representation of it.

Still trembling, I hesitantly began to approach it. With a great abundancy of trepidation, I pulled aside the curtains to reveal the piece I had created with my own two hands.

_Christine..._

It was perfect...she was perfect.

_My Christine..._

As I reached out my right hand toward the perfectly sculpted face that was hidden beneath the gossamer veil, I couldn't help but notice with disdain how visible the tremors of my normally skilled hand were. As my fingers ghosted along the profile jutting out from underneath the sheer veil, the material molding perfectly to every curve of her face, the tremors stilled; the fabric stirred beneath my touch as if from a gentle breeze.

I closed my eyes, my hand falling back down to woefully rest at my side.

_Oh, Christine..._

I couldn't stand it any longer; my eyes flew open as my hands shot out toward _her_.

They desperately grasped at her shoulders, my fingers going white in their tense grip.

I found myself snarling aloud, "_Why! Why_ do you _do_ this to me, Christine? _Why!_"

I couldn't quite comprehend why my ears were met with painful silence. I couldn't understand why she was simply staring at me with that frozen stare; those delicate lips curving upward in a gracious smile. I couldn't understand why she felt so terribly cold and stiff beneath my unyielding hold.

Why was she hiding from me, still? What reason did she have to hide her flawless face beneath that veil?

She was the most beautiful woman in the world; she was an angel. There was no reason for her to hide from me! Didn't she understand that?

My mind was in a haze as my fingers twisted the almost aerial material of that floaty shroud; the fiber suddenly became horribly fluid, yet real; scratchy and irritating in my grasp as I roughly pulled it away from my angel's face.

Somehow, I was not prepared for what I saw; somehow, I had not expected...the reality which I received.

This was not Christine.

Christine had fooled me; she had disappeared from beneath my grasp in the blink of an eye. She had left a cold, unfeeling _doll_ in her place; a cheap imitation!

And I thought that I was the master magician!

How could this girl have fooled me?

It hit me all at once.

It was not Christine that stood before me; it was the Christine that I crafted with my own two hands. It was the Christine that my heart dreamed for; my bride.

It was Christine.

However, it was not the _true_ Christine.

It was not _my_ Christine.

_I_ was the one who had fooled myself; it was all my own doing.

Fury at my own stupidity filled me as my hands fisted at my sides, my right hands twisting the material of the veil as I did so.

_How fitting that my bride is lifeless! How utterly fitting! A corpse bride for the living corpse! _

The urge to take my creation and just cast it into the dark depths of the lake was powerful as it took hold of my heart. But as my hands once more grasped the fragile shoulders of my _masterpiece_, the damn veil becoming even more twisted against my palm, I realized that I could not go through with such an act.

She was still Christine.

I would not merely _discard_ my crafted angel to rot at the bottom of the lake where I would most likely feel the urge to dive down after her, and rescue her. Oh, no. I needed her.

I needed her like I needed my mask. Without her, I would feel the urge to haunt every step, every breath, that _Christine_ would take. I would not be able to stop myself from longing for her.

My mask was my protection; it reminded me of why the world did not accept me; it shielded me.

With this cold representation of what I longed for, I could easily remind myself of what would never be; what could never be due to my own horrid visage.

The mask and the doll were one in the same; my treasures which kept me anchored and reminded me of the boundaries which I must not cross.

_Boundaries which I must **never** cross..._

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**A/N: I must admit; the characters will entirely write this story. It is the characters which will carry the plot and drag it off in whatever direction they wish. **

**I hope that you will all support me as I write; I will surely need it! (Especially since this story will be written as my heart fills with angst). **

**I do not often indulge in my darker, angst side; it is a rare thing. (As you all can tell by my happy, romantic, fluff pieces. Lol. Although, I do have one or two Inuyasha angstfics.) **

**I'm going to do a general review response to everyone: I'm so glad that you all thought I should continue this! It is you, the reviewers, which shall keep this story going--your support is greatly appreciated and needed! **

**Also, I'm not quite sure how I will end this. As I mentioned before, I have no real plot for it. Therefore, I have no idea if it will have a happy ending or not! **

**(I usually am a sucker for happy endings and would die without one. But for this phic, anything is possible!) **

**I'm pretty sure most of you want the happy ending; am I right? XP **

**Well, we shall see where this story takes us, shall we? **

**Please review! **

**: D **

**Kagome-chan **


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